


Shine Its Watchful Light on You

by musiwrites



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Secondary/Past Pairings, vigilantes are terrible at feelings because they have So Many
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiwrites/pseuds/musiwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Castle turns up half-dead on her couch and she's forced to wonder when the idea of losing him became so scary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I have edited this, as I said I would, and I'm working on the next chapter! It's worth a re-read if you've already been over this chapter as it's a thousand words longer now. Also, please, excuse my medical ineptitude, I did a little fact checking but I'm still not 100% on the details.
> 
>  
> 
> [yes, the title is from Shining Star by Earth, Wind and Fire (the tape in the car) because I love superheroes and my passion for disco & funk burns eternal]

It’s been months since she’s last seen him. 

Months of hearing whispers, seeing his name in the paper. Months of thinking she’s caught a glimpse of him down an alleyway or on a far off rooftop, but never enough to be sure. More than once she thought she felt the prickle of his gaze on the back of her neck and it made her heart race every time, but never in fear. 

Months since once again, she’d had the rug pulled out from under her and her entire life had been upended. Months of getting used to this new side of Matt, knowing who he is, and what he does. Somehow, she thinks it should have felt like a bigger shock. She’d spent weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop. To have some sort of breakdown, but it never came. She figures maybe she’s reached the point where she can’t be shocked anymore, not really.

But then Frank shows up. Months of silence and then she walks into her apartment to find him passed out on her couch, blood dripping from his fingertips and a deep gash above his brow. He’s covered in soot and the stench of smoke permeating the air around him is strong enough to smell from the doorway.

She stays frozen in the landing for a beat, hand to her mouth in shock she didn’t think she could still feel, then her mind leaps into action and she drops her bag, quickly locks the door behind herself and rushes over to him. 

“Frank?” She gives his shoulder a careful shake, not wanting to startle him when he wakes up. She feels confident that he wouldn’t deliberately hurt her, but she doesn’t know how he’ll react, if he’ll even remember where he is.  
“Frank!” She tries again, a little more urgently when he doesn’t stir. He groans and she holds her breath for a moment, but he settles again without waking up.  
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She mutters rapidly under her breath. She sucks in a shaky, deep breath. “Okay, okay, think.” She looks over him again, trying to asses the damage, and quickly gets to work removing his bulky jacket. It’s impossible to tell where the blood dripping from his fingers is coming from with it in the way.

Once it’s gone she almost wishes she hadn’t moved him, it can’t have felt good. There’s a deep gash oozing blood running from his shoulder inwards to the crook of his elbow. Something that looks suspiciously like muscle tissue is visible, she chokes back a gag and does her best not to let her mind linger on the thought of it just yet. She needs to call someone, it’s not a question. Frank isn’t bleeding anywhere else, but that doesn’t mean he’s not injured. He definitely is, he’s not waking up and the arm alone isn’t enough to do that to him, not to mention his breath sounds worryingly shallow. The wound she could probably sterilize and stitch herself, but she’s got no idea how to even figure out what’s going on inside him, let alone how to treat it. So, yeah, she needs to call someone, but her options are limited. Hospitals are out, for obvious reasons, and really there aren’t many people who she could trust to see Frank Castle on her couch and not freak out.

She already knows Matt is her only real option in this situation, but somehow it feels wrong to call him here when Frank chose her to be the one he let himself be vulnerable with. He trusted her and he put himself in her hands. Calling Matt seems like a breach of that trust, but she can’t think of anyone else and as much as it would pain her she would rather lose his trust than have him lose his life. At least if-when Frank wakes up he’ll know that he hasn’t been exposed to anyone who’s going to expose him to the police. That’s something, and as much as she doesn’t want to do this, Frank is probably going to die if she doesn’t. She runs back to the door, fishes her phone from her bag with trembling fingers, and dials.

*

Before long Matt is at her door, when she opens it his expression is troubled and concerned, like he’s ready to protect her when she isn’t even the one in trouble. There’s a woman standing next to him, she looks like she’s been dragged straight out of bed if her sweats and messy hair are any indication, but she has a focused, determined look on her face, it’s easy to trust her. They both step in and Matt’s unseeing eyes are already focused on the figure on the couch.

“Do I want to know why Frank Castle is passed out on your couch?” There’s something hard in his voice.  
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” He looks like he wants to ask more, but there’s no time to waste. The woman she still hasn’t properly met passes in front of them and goes to stand over Frank, she freezes halfway.  
“Is…is that The Punisher?”  
“Frank.” Karen cuts in, “His name is Frank.” She finishes, quietly. Matt nods.  
“Yes, Claire, that’s him. But please, trust me, I wouldn’t be asking you to do this if he weren’t a good man.” He says with his signature earnesty. She stares at Matt for a moment, looks over at Karen, and sighs, acquiescing.  
“Alright, but you both owe me, big time.”  
“Thank you.” Karen is surprised to hear the choked back sob in her own voice and raises a hand to her mouth, as if to pull the sound back in.  
“It’s alright.” Claire says, softer, while she digs through her bag. Her voice is laced with some frustration, but it’s not insincere. Karen is grateful, she can’t imagine this is an easy situation to be dragged into and she’s taking a lot on faith here by helping them.

She waits while Claire gets to inspecting Frank’s injuries, kneeling by the arm of the sofa and carding her fingers through his hair. She knows how it looks, but it’s all she feels like she can do right now. Some meager comfort while she prays that she hasn’t come home too late, that his injuries aren’t too severe. After a while, Claire sits back on her heels.  
“Well, he’s not looking great, but it’s not as bad as it could be. He’s got a few cracked ribs, they aren’t going to be much fun but they haven’t punctured anything, they’ll heal. The biggest issue right now is smoke inhalation. What he really needs is oxygen, but since we aren’t going to have a lot of luck with that I can probably manage some antibiotics and anti-inflammatory meds. They’ll stop his airway from swelling too much with all the irritation, but you need to keep an eye on his breathing, chemical and dust build up could still cause a lot of problems. If it gets too bad you need to call an ambulance.” She throws up a hand to silence both her and Matt’s protests before they begin. “I know, no ambulances, but it’s that or he dies. My resources are limited.” Karen suppresses a shudder, she hopes it won’t come to that.

“Now,” She looks pointedly at Karen “When he wakes up he needs to hydrate, okay? And he can’t exert himself, I realise he’s probably not going to like it but he’s basically bedridden for a while, his lungs can’t take the strain without proper care and even if his ribs haven’t punctured anything yet, that doesn’t mean they won’t if he makes them worse, he needs to rest.” Karen nods, she can’t imagine how she’s going to stop Frank Castle from doing what he wants, but she’ll try, she’ll give it everything she has.  
“Okay, Thank you, Claire. I don’t know what I can do, but if you ever need anything, I’ll try.” Claire nods and smiles.  
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She stands. “Alright,” She begins making her way towards the door and gives one last look to Matt and Karen as she pulls it open. “I’ll be back in a half hour or so with whatever I can manage, everyone try to stay alive while I’m gone.” There’s an attempt at levity in her voice, but Karen can’t find it in herself to take comfort in it. She appreciates the effort, though, and wonders if it would be too much to ask Claire for her number so next time something like this happens she doesn’t need to go through Matt, assuming there is a next time. Matt sighs and promises they’ll do their best, Karen tries to choke out a laugh and it sounds like a sob, then she’s gone.

The tension in the room rises palpably, Karen finally pulls her fingers back from Frank’s hair with surprising reluctance and waits for Matt to speak.  
“Karen.” His tone is grave. “What is Frank Castle doing passing out on your couch?” She knows he’s not asking what happened to Frank, this time.  
“I don’t know, Matt, I really don’t. I didn’t expect to see him here when I came home.”  
“Have you been in contact with him?”  
“No!” She assures him vehemently. They promised each other that there would be no more secrets between them, and while she realises this looks suspicious she needs him to understand she hasn’t broken that promise. “No, Matt, I swear. I’d have told you if I had.”  
“Okay,” he takes a step forward and lingers in front of her, like he’s asking permission. When she takes a small step toward him he pulls her into his arms for a hug. “Okay, I know. I know you’re telling the truth, I just had to make sure. He’s dangerous, Karen.” She sighs into the hug, pulling back slowly.  
“I know he can be, but he’s not going to hurt me, Matt. I know that he’s not.” She’s proud of the firmness in her voice, because it’s true. He would never hurt her, she knows that. “You should know, too.” Matt looks like he wants to argue.  
“Just keep it in mind, who he is, Karen.”  
“I know who he is. I know who he is better than you, probably. Besides, a lot of people would argue that you’re dangerous too, Matt.” It’s a low blow and she regrets the words once they’re out, but she’s tired and she’s worried, her words aren’t untrue but she still wishes she could have said them with less bite.  
“That’s not fair. We aren’t the same, you know that.”  
“Just because you aren’t the same doesn’t mean he’s a monster.” She can practically see Matt biting back his next words, before he steps back, deflates.  
“Okay, okay. We don’t need to do this right now, I’m sorry.” Karen nods and lets some of the tension drain from her shoulder.  
“You’re right.” They wait in relative silence the rest of the time they’re alone together, and Karen tries not to think too much about why right now what she wants most is for Matt to leave. She loves Matt, she’s less and less sure how, but she loves him, loves that he’s here to help her when she calls, but right now she just wants to be left alone to wait for Frank to wake up.

*

Before long, Claire returns with the pills. She hands Claire a folded up paper detailing when to take them, how many, and what not to mix them with. She runs Claire though what to do if he starts hacking up blood, what’s normal, what to look out for. Finally, she tells Karen when to call the ambulance, and hands tells her that she’s left her number on the paper and she can call her if anything less serious happens. She hugs Karen and makes her promise to call the ambulance if his breathing takes a turn for the worst.

Matt lingers in the door when they leave, Karen knows he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone with Frank, but it’s not his choice to make. Besides, Matt isn’t the easiest trusting person. She knows that he thinks she’s being naive, projecting, when she insists that Frank is a good man, that he would never hurt her. She also knows that Matt does not know Frank Castle the way she does, that it’s a safe bet to say no one does, anymore. 

She hopes she can trust Matt not to spend the night lingering on her rooftop or fire escape, listening for any sign of trouble, but she wouldn’t put it past him. She knows he means well, but he still struggles with boundaries. Hers, especially. He’s promised her that from now on when she says’ she can take care of herself, he’ll respect that, even if he doesn’t agree in the situation. Maybe he’ll stand by his word.

He leaves, reluctantly.  
“Stay safe, Karen.” He says, closing the door behind himself. 

She gets up to lock it, and stays for a moment, head leant against the door while she considers what to do now. She turns back to look at Frank, and sighs. There’s not much she can do to help him until he wakes up and she can make him take his pills and eat something, but she can make him a little more comfortable, at least. 

She walks into the kitchen and searches her cupboards until she finds a suitably sized pot, fills it halfway, and sets it over one of the burners. She fishes the cleanest washcloth she can find from a drawer and sets it on the counter. Once that’s done she goes back into the living room, pulls the table up close to the sofa, sits, and waits. She knows there’s no real chance of getting any sleep tonight, too busy worrying and listening for his breathing as long as he’s unconscious to let herself relax enough, so at least this will give her something to do, even if it really doesn’t make much difference to him. Besides, she thinks, it certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for Frank Castle to have someone take care of him, for once.

After a few minutes of allowing herself to just breathe, she stands again and removes his shoes, setting them down at the foot of the couch. There’s not much else to change the state of his clothes, removing his pants feels like breaching his personal space, even if it’s just for comfort, and his shirt has already been cut open for Claire to inspect his ribs, she doesn’t want to jostle his injuries trying to pull it out from under him. Instead, she goes to the hall closet to retrieve a pillow and blanket, and comes back, drapes the blanket over the back of the couch until she needs it and, gently as she can, tucks the pillow behind him. 

She goes back to the kitchen and removes the pot from the burner before the water gets too hot, grabbing the washcloth and taking both into the living room with her. Once she has it on the table she dips the washcloth in until it’s soaked through and wrings it out until it’s only damp. She dabs gently at the skin around the gash over his brow bone, not wanting to tug on the stitches Claire had done. Makes her way down the bridge of his nose, across his temples, his way, down his neck. She makes her way across his chest and arms and it’s near unbelievable how many scars he has, new and old. She wants to know what’s behind them, he would probably tell her, if she asked. She gets the feeling he’d tell her anything, if she asked, but she won’t push just yet.

Once she’s gotten as much of the crusted blood and soot off him as she can, she dumps the pot, gives it a rinse, and leaves it in the kitchen sink to deal with later, when she has the energy. She curls up in the chair next to the sofa and turns the tv on low, trying to distract herself while she waits for him to wake-up. When she starts carding her fingers through his hair, again, she doesn’t even catch it.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope no one minds this went up a day or two later than planned! I'm in the middle of moving and it's kind of kicking my ass.
> 
> [If you read the first chapter in the first day or so that it was up, you might want to reread, it's been revised heavily and it's about a thousand words longer!]

Karen is still curled on the table in front of the couch when light starts to peek through the blinds. The tv is on low in the background, running through the same infomercial reels that all of the free cable stations taper into when most people are asleep. She’s using her free hand to scroll through various news sources on her phone, searching for any reports of arson in Hell’s Kitchen in the last twenty-four hours or so, while the other brushes idly through Frank’s dirtied hair. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wonders what his reaction would be, but she dismisses the thought, it’s not important right now. Her phone is almost dead, she’s been searching for hours and she hasn’t come up with anything. She didn’t particularly expect to, but it’s still disconcerting. There’s always a chance that whatever happened to Frank didn’t happen in Hell’s Kitchen, but given that’s where all of the Punisher sightings in the last months have been, it seems unlikely. If it hasn’t been reported, and it wasn’t outside Hell’s Kitchen, it confirms what she already knew but wanted to deny, whatever fire or explosion Frank was caught in was very deliberately created with him in mind.

She’s fretting when Frank begins to cough, she freezes for a split second before jerking upright. Her phone clatters to the table, forgotten, as she moves to help him. He’s trying to roll himself over and she pushes him back into the couch, gentle but still firm. She’s surprised but grateful when he cooperates, even if it’s most likely just because he’s not in a state to realize what he’s doing at this moment. Once the coughs have subsided somewhat she carefully helps him into a sitting position before he tries and makes himself worse. She grabs the water she’d had waiting on the table and moves to give it to him. He reaches out for it, with his freshly stitched arm and it’s impossibly to miss the wince of pain.  
“Just let me help, Frank.” She admonishes with a stern voice. She knows he’s probably not crazy about this but if he’s too out of it to protest then he’s definitely out of it enough to need the help. He gives her a look she can’t quite decipher before nodding slightly.  
“Yes, ma’am.” He croaks out, voice breaking into a cough at the end. His voice is distorted and dry, but she can’t help the relief that she feels at the words. They’re familiar, comforting, in a way. She thinks she might’ve even caught the edges of a grin before he’d started coughing again.

She lifts the glass to his lips and he works on draining the glass. There are breaks for coughing too heavy to drink through and moments for him to slow down and fight for breath, but he gets it down and she goes to refill it right away, giving him a moment to collect himself. When she comes back, his eyes are looking a little clearer already and his breathing seems a little less laboured. She gives him the glass, in his good hand, and waits silently for him to finish it one more time before she can go to refill it and give him the pills Claire had gotten. She’s burning to ask him what happened, who is trying to kill him now, but it’s probably better to give him a little recovery time for his mind to clear before she tries. If she’s being honest, she’s a little scared to hear the answers, how could she not be? But, at least she knows he’ll give them to her. That’s something. Karen has learned that bad things will find her in life regardless of what she knows, so it’s better to see them coming. 

He starts coughing and hacking again, it sounds worse this time, but she recognizes this cough. Claire had warned her of what to look out for, and told her that his coughing getting worse was not necessarily a bad thing, depending on how it sounded. This is a cough like the kind everyone has after a bad chest cold, when you’re coughing up all the garbage lining your lungs and airway, this is be a good thing, Claire had told her. He has a lot to cough up, and the sooner it comes out, the better. She takes the empty glass from him while he coughs and rushes to fill it, ripping some paper-towel from the rack in the kitchen for him to cough into if anything comes up and returning with both. She hands the paper-towel to him and he holds it to his mouth immediately, coughing into it heavy and hard. She winces and reaches for the pills, retrieving the correct amount of each while she waits for the coughing to calm again and his breathing to steady. She sits quietly while she waits, watching him cough and filled with the urge to reach out and offer some kind of comfort, but she doesn’t. Eventually, he gets his breath under control.

“Why’d you stop?” Frank’s voice is raw and rough, and it cuts through her sharper than she ever expected. Sharper than before because as clearly rough as his voice is, he sounds like himself, this time. After months spent breaking herself of the expectation to see him on rooftops and down alleyways, it feels a little surreal, even with all that’s happened in the last night. Given all of this, she thinks it’s only fair to forgive her for being a little slow to catch his meaning.  
“Stop what?” She asks, pills in hand.  
“You had your hand in my hair,” Her brows knit together, she didn’t think he’d been awake enough to notice that. She’s not sorry, exactly, but she’s definitely feeling thrown off by his question. “Why’d you stop?” He asks, then, after a moment: "Why'd you do it at all?"  
“I-” She starts, not exactly sure what her answer is going to be. “I just thought-It felt right. Like the right thing to do, there wasn’t really anything I could do but I thought maybe it would be nice, comforting, y’know?” She bites her lip, and continues, more sombre. “Something tells me you have much of that, these days.” She winces at her own words, that was probably insensitive. “Sorry-”  
“Don’t be,” Frank cuts her off. “You aren’t wrong.” He scoffs at his own understatement, which brings on another bout of coughing and hacking. 

This time, once his breathing has steadied again, she doesn’t allow him the chance to ask anything else before making sure he takes the pills. She’s pretty sure she catches an eye roll when she insists but chooses to ignore it. Even though she’s pretty certain that Frank Castle could give death attitude on his own doorstep, she’d still like to think of it as a sign that he’s not quite there yet. Once the pills are down, she knows that he’ll probably go back to sleep once the painkillers kick in, so she should probably start finding out what he can remember about what happened. The more she knows, the sooner she can figure out exactly how safe they aren’t.  
“What happened, Frank?”  
“Some asshole locked me in a car, tried to blow it up.” He answers as if she’s just asked him about last night’s powerball numbers. Her brows lift into a disapproving expression.  
“Seriously? Who?” At that, Frank’s expression clouds over. He doesn’t answer right away.  
“Who was it, Frank?” She presses.  
“I don’t know.” He grinds out. “I don’t know and I shouldn’t be here because that means-” he breaks off for a moment, hacking “That means-” He tries to struggle through the coughs “That means- I don’t know where-” He cuts off again, letting the last of the heavy coughs taper off and taking a deep breath to continue. “It means I don’t know where they are, I don’t know what to look for.” Karen can already see the determination to leave, and get himself killed, settling in.  
“You’re not leaving.” She says before he can try.  
“What the hell do you think is going to happen if I stay?” He starts, angry but calm. “I was barely on my feet when I came here, it would’ve been easy for someone to tail me. They’ll come here looking for me and they’ll kill you.”  
“Frank, that’s not-”  
“I won’t let that happen.” His tone doesn’t leave room for argument, but Karen isn’t going to backdown on this. Frank isn’t going to die over some futile, misguided attempt to save her.  
“Frank-”  
“But I might not be strong enough to stop them, right now, I need to-”  
“I said you’re not leaving!” Karen yells. He finally stops and looks up at her.

“You don’t want my death on your conscience, I get that, I do, neither do I! In fact, I’d really like to not die at all, but you’re being an idiot.” She takes a breath, steadying herself and looking pointedly into his eyes. “Listen, someone might have followed you, that’s true, and even if they didn’t I’m sure they’ll be looking for you once they realize you survived, but you’re already here, it doesn’t make a difference now.”  
“Yes, it does.” Frank argues, stubborn as ever. “If they haven’t already followed me then I could leave before they even know I was here.”  
“Yeah, you could, then what?” Karen spits, losing patience. “Then you die? Is that it? You don’t want my death on your conscience, well maybe I don’t want your death on mine, have you ever thought of that?” For a long moment they’re both silent. She can’t puzzle out the look on Frank’s face through her frustration and she doesn’t have the energy to try. “Besides,” she sighs, eventually. “Everyone already knows I was on your trial, everyone already saw the article I published. They’d come for me eventually, no matter what, so you’re staying.” She leans back, running a hand through her hair while she tries to calm down.  
“Is that so?” Frank asks, finally. His voice is rough as always, worse actually, but still soft in its own way. He’s let it go, for now, while she knows it won’t be the last time they have this argument she’s still grateful.  
“Yeah.” Karen breaths a small laugh. “That’s so.” Frank grins up at her.  
“Don’t suppose I have a choice, then?”  
“Nope.” Karen answers, smiling despite everything. She’s not quite sure how she’s feeling at this point, she definitely needs to sleep, but there’s no chance she’s going to be able to until she knows Frank is doing a little better. For now, they both need to know more about whatever is coming. 

“Hold on.” She says, Frank gives her a curious look, but says nothing. She gets up and goes to her coat, by the door. She fishes through the pockets until her fingers find the small, spiral notebook. She returns, taking the pen from the wire binding and flipping the book to the nearest blank page and sits down again.  
“Tell me everything you remember before the fire.”

*

After a while, between the exhaustion and the slow set-in of the painkillers, Frank starts getting drowsy. His answers becoming less and less detailed and harder to come by, so Karen figures it’s time to put down the notebook and focus on getting Frank somewhere a little more comfortable so he can sleep without doing more than than good.  
“Do you think you can move?”  
“Hm,” He grunts, “If I have to, why?” Frank mumbles back, blinking heavily.  
“We should try to move you, get you in the bed so that you can lay down properly. I’d say we should try to change you into something more comfortable too but I think that’s a little ambitious when you can barely see straight.” She grins. Frank coughs out a laugh and mumbles something she doesn’t quite catch.  
“What’d you say?”  
“I’m not taking your bed.” Karen rolls her eyes at the protest, which she’s already anticipated.  
“How about you don’t act like an idiot in the name of misguided chivalry? You need to lay down in a proper bed, and I fall asleep on this couch half the time anyways, not to mention it’s not even noon yet, you’re the only one going to sleep so your argument is pointless.”  
“I’m filthy.” He grumbles.  
“I can wash the bedding.” Karen stands, pushes back the table so there’s more room for them to get by, and leans across Frank to gently wrap an arm around his good shoulder. “This is happening. Come on, up.” Frank sighs heavily (and in her opinion, a bit dramatically) and cooperates. Karen silently thanks Claire for going to the trouble of getting technically unnecessary painkillers because she’s pretty sure they have a hand in making Frank a more pliable than normal.

Getting him on his feet isn’t easy. She’s starting to realize how heavily his lungs are impeding his mobility. She knows he’s had deeper wounds and worse breaks, so it must be the lungs putting him through all of this. Not to mention all of the coughing has probably made his ribs worse, but there’s not much that can be done to stop that. Once he’s finally on his feet, they sway precariously and he spends a couple minutes hacking from the effort.  
“You okay?” She asks once the coughs have quieted down.  
“I’m good.” He says, voice strained as he pushes away from Karen. She lets him go but hovers nearby, not quite confident in his ability to stay upright if he has another fit. She follows him into the bedroom and pulls the covers back for him, helping him settle onto the bed despite hazy protests. Once he’s down she grabs him another glass of water and the box of tissues for the sputum he’ll be coughing up the next few days. She half expects him to already be asleep by the time she gets back but he’s not. He’s looking at her strangely intense through heavy eyes. She sets the tissues and the water down on the nightside table carefully, telling herself she’s not avoiding the intensity of his look and turning back to him once she’s done. She goes to turn away but he reaches out with his good arm and grasps her wrist.  
“Thank you.” The words are simple enough, but it’s impossible to miss the weight behind them. She knows he’s not just talking about last night, or right now. She knows he’s thanking her for what is probably more than she can fully realize.  
“You’re welcome, Frank.” She says gently, quietly. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll see what I can find out.” She doesn’t quite manage to stop herself from running a soothing hand through his hair before leaving, like she had before he’d woken up, but he doesn’t react when she does, so she leaves him to sleep. 

Once she’s back in the living-room, Karen pulls out her laptop and settles herself down on the dirty couch, sifting through the details Frank gave her. She knows that she isn’t going to find anything useful, but she needs the distraction. She’s itching to go start searching, start digging for whatever she can find, but she’s not confident that if she leaves now she won’t come back to an empty apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story was initially going to be two or three chapters, essentially an extended one-shot, but I wrote out an outline and it has now begun morphing into a terrifying, several-chapter behemoth. Beware, this is going to be the last bite-sized chapter you get. Oopsie dasies? Not sure when the next update will arrive, but it will!

**Author's Note:**

> Come weep over the lack of canon romance between these two with me @musiwrites on tumblr or @musiwrites on twitter.


End file.
